Kurt Hummel, your everyday backup singer, gets to meet his favorite singer. (AO3)
Kurt wasn’t one for being star struck, but there were a few exceptions.
Frank Ocean, that one guy from One Direction that Marley swooned over for weeks, even Taylor Swift- not that he’s a huge fan, he just couldn't believe that she was as tall as him- but no one compared to Blaine Anderson.
When he got an email that New Directions had been booked for a fourteen hour session for the up-and-coming singer-songwriter’s debut EP, Kurt had instantly cancelled his Friday night gig with Pamela Lansbury to make sure he was there to see Blaine in the flesh.
“He’s not even that famous,” Tina complains from her place on the couch as they wait for everyone to arrive. “Do you know how many Instagram followers he has?”
“We all know that doesn’t show how famous you are-” Marley starts.
“Sixty-seven thousand,” Tina says over her. She tosses her phone to Kurt where his account is pulled up. “Call me high maintenance-”
“You’re high maintenance,” Kurt interrupts, eyes widening at Blaine’s Instagram feed. It’s not anything he’s seen before (he has him on post notifications), but the constant beach pictures with his friend Sam and impressive yoga shots take his breath away every time.
“But typically we work with people who have followings in the millions. Plus I thought this guy was just a one hit wonder.”
She has a point. When you were in Los Angeles and wanted backing vocals with depth or to make an in-studio music video, you called New Directions. Not only were they talented, but knowing each other since high school made their chemistry translate past screens and headphones.
“You’re only saying that because he’s the same age as you and he’s already got a record deal,” Kurt says, trying to sound his best to tease her but too distracted but the images in his hand.
“It’s a EP of covers,” Tina says pointedly. “Don’t people use YouTube for that shit now?”
“At least the song selection is nice,” Marley offers, looking at the itinerary on the coffee table. “I mean At Last, Bennie and the Jets, and Real Love? The guy’s got a good variety.”
“Real Love?” Tina, asks, snatching the paper off the table. “He couldn’t even pick a Beatles song that people know?”
“It’s one my favorites,” says an unfamiliar voice from the doorway, and Tina chokes on her words as she looks up to see their client enter the room.
God he looks even better in person, Kurt thought, twisting around to take in Blaine’s full appearance: a crisp blue button down and high water jeans paired with a break up brown leather jacket; Kurt can tell how define his arms are as he leans against the doorframe. As he crosses the room, Kurt throws Tina’s phone in her direction hoping Blaine hasn't looked over his shoulder.
“Well I’ve heard you guys are the best of the best,” he says, eyes scanning the room and, unless Kurt is dreaming, checking him up and down. “If you’ve got any suggestions or pre-established arrangements, I’m flexible.”
“Clearly,” Tina smirks, locking her phone and winking at Kurt.
“Well I’ve got the band set up in room 3,” Blaine says, heading back to the door and stopping when he gets right in front of Kurt. “When you guys are ready, I’m very eager to see what you’ve got in store.”
If he wasn’t leaning against the cabinets, Kurt swears he would collapse then and there.
“I’ll see you in there,” Kurt replies with the biggest sigh he’d ever released in his life, and Blaine leaves with one last gaze from Kurt’s lips to his shoes.
“Damn,” Tina says to break the silence. “His music taste may suck, but the boy’s got game.”
Marley barks out a laugh. Kurt immediately starts scheming of a way to slip his phone number into Blaine’s guitar case.
